Case Number 25351: Small Claims Court

BESTIAIRE

The Charge

"In the end, this film is about contemplation..." -- and something else.
Something indefinable, something more obscure, which I hope to find out more
about with the help of the audience." -- Denis Côté on
Bestiaire

The Case

Is there any such thing as objectivity in art? Some will argue that it's
possible, but in order to do so convincingly, they will have to redefine either
objectivity or art. That's fine for those who want to do that, but it holds
little water for me. I find true objectivity to be a tenuous concept in any
field, but art more so than anywhere else. Creating something, whether it's a
story, a sculpture, or a painting, is a purely subjective act that comes
directly from the artist's mind. Attempts at objectivity fail as a result of an
individual's experiences and world view, which are themselves subjective.

This is equally and especially true in film, where the writer, director,
cinematographer, and editor all put their own spin on the product and, after
which, viewers take their own angle. The idea of presenting objectivity in
cinema is pretty tough, if not impossible. Yet that's exactly what director
Denis Côté attempts to achieve in Bestiaire, a piece that shows
animals at a zoo, their human observers, and taxidermists at work. He has no
success with his aim, but that doesn't make the film any less interesting.

Indeed, in his goal of objectivity, he delivers one of the clearest pictures
of cinematic subjectivity that I've seen in some time. This film, while
non-fiction, is very difficult to describe as a documentary. Without narration,
dialog, or non-diegetic sound, Côté presents a film that demands a lot
from the viewer, both in interpretation and in patience.

He begins the film by editing together clips of people drawing something,
but we can't see what. Ultimately, it turns out to be a stuffed deer, but that's
less important in itself than as an introduction to the meat of the production,
the Parc Safari in Hemmingford, Quebec. The zoo's gimmick is to fabricate the
natural environments of the animals for the hordes of tourists to observe. Of
course, the idea that animals from Africa can or should exist in frigid Quebec
is kind of crazy on the face, but that doesn't stop them from profiting off of
it.

Côté films the animals in their show form as the people watch them
and they watch the people. He alternates this footage with the animals as they
are most of the time, in cruelly small cages where they stand, hardly able to
move, when Parc Safari is closed at night and during the cold winter months. I
hate to anthropomorphize animals, but there's no doubt that, standing on
concrete in a tightly confined space, they are distressed. Then, when the
creatures die, they are transferred to a taxidermist, where they are stuffed and
returned to Parc Safari for display.

Presenting all of this without comment or music gives the impression of
objectivism, a goal Côté has discussed in various interviews
(including the one included on the disc), but he betrays that idea all over the
place. First, he has chosen when, where, and what to film. Sometimes, he shoots
the full animals and, sometimes, he chooses to show just the legs or a horn or a
close up on the face. These are all inherently subjective acts, and then there's
the part of the viewer. He can say all day long that it's up to the audience to
interpret the material for themselves, but he must know that the way he frames
his shots and the choices he has made influence their interpretation. Even the
title of the film, which is French for "bestiary," the centuries-old
practice of making tableaus of animals with morality and spirituality attached,
makes a strong statement about how we view animals. Côté can claim
that it's my choice of how to see these choices, but he has made choices
himself.

Even though his attempt at objectivity fails, Bestiaire is still an
artfully filmed and interesting documentary, so much as one can really call it
that. Cinematographer Vincent Biron puts together a lovely frame, with a lot of
style and variation. The film's quiet nature invokes plenty of thought and
feeling that can be interpreted in many different ways. My own feelings of
disgust about zoos in general most certainly affect the way I viewed the
footage; somebody with a more positive attitude toward them may well see the
same footage very differently. That it can inspire conversations like this is
the film's best attribute and what makes it such an interesting experience.

Bestiaire arrives on DVD from Zeitgeist Films in a release that is
pretty standard for the label. The beautiful cinematography is well-represented
in the transfer, which is sharp and crisp with plenty of detail in the frame.
The sound mix is essentially irrelevant, given the lack of any significant sound
design, but the noise of the animals comes through clearly enough. The very
brief and intentionally soft voices of the workers and onlookers are in French
without subtitles, but makes sense given the subject and style. The only extra
is the interview with the director, in which he talks about his aim for the film
and some of the struggles in working with Parc Safari.

Bestiaire is an interesting film. Sometimes beautiful, sometimes
ugly, and often challenging, it will provoke thought and conversation, and even
if it doesn't succeed in its goal of pure objectivity, that still makes it a
film well worth watching.